Blue Rose
by Stelra Etnae
Summary: Fates are truly a fickle thing. A tiny twitch in the threads of time can potentially bring people together, or break them apart. A young nobleman, long separated from his brothers and disillusioned with the world, meets a princess whose heart is full of light. This is a meeting of kindred souls. Alive!Sabo AU.


_**This was originally part of a longer work, but I simply have too many projected piled up that this story was pushed back in my priority list. Now I'm not sure if I will continue this, but I decided that this already completed first chapter can stand alone well enough as a one-shot. So I decided to post it rather than letting it languish in my pendrive (as it has already been doing for a couple of months).**_

_**It's rather different from my usual style, but instead is modeled after a genre that I have a particular fondness for - historical romance. I felt that it fit the setting and these particular characters. Hopefully, you'll enjoy reading it too!**_

_**A rather unconventional pairing, but hey, fanfiction exists to make our dreams come to life, doesn't it?**_

_**A different decision changes the fate of a young boy who now has the chance to grow into a man - and brings together two individuals who realize that they were more alike that they could have thought possible. **__**Ten years after the burning of the Grey Terminal, and ten years since Sabo sacrificed his freedom for the lives of his brothers, the now twenty year old nobleman visits a certain desert kingdom on the Grand Line.**_

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**Blue Rose**

A handsome blond man, his face half-hidden by a plain silver mask, sat sprawled on a settee in a corner of the ballroom. His long legs, clad to advantage in well-tailored blue pants and shining black boots, were stretched out before him. The look of elegant aristocracy was further complimented by his dark blue coat of excellent cut, accompanied by a spotless white cravat held in place by a diamond pin. The sight fair cast several young ladies into a swoon. Though, as a noblewoman would later confide in her companion, the air of social detachment (oh, like the melancholic lover!) may have served to make him seem more attractive than in reality.

Indeed the man in question made it obvious that his presence was not meant for any of their pleasures. Heedless of being labeled arrogant, he dissuaded any approaches from his fellow guests at the ball by appearing to find the glass of white wine in his hand exceedingly interesting. Just as some ladies sighed from afar, those that ventured near reported indignantly of being carelessly snubbed. It was, they said, as if he deemed their company below that of a glass of wine. How atrocious.

Thus soon they learnt through experience and rumors to avoid him, which suited the young man very well. Lazily, he swirled the liquid around in its delicate fluted glass before taking a sip, allowing the flavor to roll across his tongue. Ah, Sauvignon Blanc. Excellent wine. Indeed, the host had done well in the selection.

Yet in his opinion, the host had done badly in the very decision to organize this ball and even a wonderful taste in wine could not remedy it.

He had long since become tired of pretending to enjoy the company of the stuck-up nobles and royalty that made up the guests of the party. He knew that he was being less than civil – he simply did not care. He could feel his mother's glare attempting to drill a hole through him from halfway across the hall where she was successfully appearing to listen attentively to a heavily-powdered matriarch with an alarmingly high bejeweled turban and threaten him at the same time. Indeed, if looks could kill, he would be dead many times over.

But as it was, looks could not harm him, and he had no more patience for the frivolity of high society. His parents could say what they will about him, he no longer cared. They no longer had any hold over him, and if his plan worked well, he would be gone by the next dawn, in a place where he would not pursue him to. It was the sole purpose that he agreed to attend this tedious party, though he was now regretting that he had not left sooner.

It was grand celebration, from what he remembered it was in commemoration of a royal family regaining their rightful place as rulers of the country after years of unrest. It was gathering that was political to a core, he knew, arranged for that royal family to attract the support of other countries, to quell opposition and avoid the possibility of war from neighboring lands.

Royalty from all over the blue seas had been invited, along with some choice nobles. His family, naturally, leapt at this chance to rub shoulders with the world's aristocracy. His mother had doubtlessly manipulated some poor soul into extending the invitation to their family, likely through his adopted brother's marriage to one of Goa's princesses. They were, as his mother constantly preened since that favorable alliance, by extension royalty as well, so why should they be denied the invitation?

He snorted inwardly. Bullshit. So what if they were nobles, or even royalty? Didn't blood flow through their veins just like the poorest beggar? Sometimes, no almost always, he had to scorn the narrow-mindedness of the aristocrats and he was ashamed to have been born as one.

With that happy thought he tipped back the last of his wine and stood, dropping the empty wineglass on a servant's tray as he weaved his way across the hall, avoiding the clusters of socializing nobles. They avoided him as well, though whispers followed him, commenting on his atrocious manners before once again reverting to the topic of that lady's ugly hat. He faintly heard one girl comment to another that 'he isn't all that handsome anyway', accompanied by a derisive sniff. He wanted to retort that nothing could be uglier than their corrupted hearts, but choose to continue with single-mindedness towards the double doors that opened up to the gardens. The ballroom, for all its size, was absolutely stifling with the mix of expensive perfumes that the ladies wore and he was eager to distance himself from it.

Emerging in the garden, he took a moment to savor the crisp night air. It was chilly out, a stark contrast to the heat of the day, a climate that fascinated him with its difference from what he was used to in Goa. The moon was bright in the sky, casting an ethereal glow on the beautifully-crafted garden.

A shrill giggle broke the spell, reminding him that he was still much too close to the ballroom for his liking. He quickly went deeper into garden.

Away from the glare of indoor lighting, he slowed to appreciate the landscaping of the garden. It was unlike any other garden he had visited, yet its exoticness felt natural in this land that was likewise vastly different from the kingdom he lived in. There were not many plants, and all were strange plants that he had never seen before, presumably those native to the area. It was a lack of pretentiousness that Sabo appreciated, not attempting to displace unnatural greenery into a setting unsuitable for them. The overall design was tasteful, structured in a way that wove the desert's rough beauty into the creation rather than attempt to shadow it. What some may have dismissed as ugly was given life through skilled hands and a shrewd mind for landscaping. It was the work of a true artist.

He followed the footpath that wound through the garden and came to the entrance of what appeared to be a recreational maze of stone lightly covered with flowering creepers. The darkness and solitude of it appealed to him, especially at the sound of chatter that implied some others had also decided to explore the garden.

He entered its depths, the moonlight the sole illumination within the dark maze. Several times he hit dead ends but mostly he weaved around the passages with no obstruction, yet in a maze one could never know for sure if one was heading in the right direction. For all he knew, he could be turning in endless circles. Not that he minded overmuch even if he was. His pace was leisurely, being in no rush to complete the journey. He retained a basic idea of his goal, however, and was quite confident that he was heading in the general direction of the exit. Turning a corner, he arrived at an open area with a masterpiece of flowering bushes at its center, making him think that he had reached the center of the maze.

There, he found a vision bathed in moonlight.

She wore a ball gown of shimmering silver silk which was both unassuming in its simplicity and much more beautiful than the atrocities he had witnessed within that cursed room. Her back was to him, and a few light tendrils of hair had artfully fallen from the elegant up-do (its name eluded him; he was hardly an expert in female fashion, after all) to ghost upon her exposed shoulders.

"Are you lost, sir?" A voice, charming and melodious, asked with a light laugh.

Unconsciously, he smiled. "Truly, I'm not sure if I am. Mazes have a way of addling one's sense of direction. Are you, my lady?"

"Why," she tilted her head towards him and he saw a flash of white teeth, before she continued in a demure tone, "of course not."

A surprised chuckle bubbled its way past his lips. He grinned. "May I call your bluff?"

"It's quite ungentlemanly of you to do so, sir. But I assure you that it is not a bluff."

She turned towards him fully then and he saw that she wore a mask like all the guests that the masquerade. She was a fellow guest, then, not an ethereal being. Her mask was silver like his, but naturally in a more feminine design, covering the entire top half of her face and adorned with delicate white fabric rose sparkling with glitter.

"Alas, I had wished to be your gallant savior from the evil grasp of this maze."

"My knight in shining armor? I'm afraid that I'm not in need of one, sir. This maze is but a trifling thing."

With a smile, he stepped closer to her and bowed elegantly.

"A courageous lady, not willing to allow others to fight her battles! Indeed, I admire that."

She put her hand in his proffered one and he decorously raised it to his lips. She smelt like flowers, but not like the distilled floral scent that the rest wore. It was more like she had fallen into a field of desert flowers and the gentle fragrance had followed her when she had risen.

Not relinquishing his hold on her hand, he met her eyes with a slow smile. "May I know your name, most admirable lady?"

Behind her mask, her eyes danced. "Why, that would go against the rules of the ball!"

"A mystery! Then I will name you… Lady Rose."

"How very original of you, sir!"

Sabo laughed, acknowledging the tease, letting her hand slip from his. "A desert rose, then, a rather more exotic species. Though I confess to have never seen one myself, but a flower that blooms in such harsh conditions must be a commendable one."

"Perhaps you should linger for longer in Alabasta. You may gain the opportunity to see one."

"Alas, surely they cannot rival your beauty." The flattery came practiced to his tongue, but both parties were aware of its playful nature. It was a game, an innocent one, unlike the games of politics now being played within the ballroom.

"But you have not seen my face, to say that it is beautiful."

"I would ask to see it, but that would go against the rules as well, would it not? It shall suffice to say that you are beautiful."

"Empty flattery, sir! A weak compliment!"

"Oh, but do you not know of the belief that the virtuous are by merit lovely?"

"I have met many a lady whose heart reflects not her appearance."

"Why, virtue is a greater beauty than that which is but skin-deep. And so I say that you are beautiful, rare rose."

"I shall thank you then, for the compliment. Sir, you're much too kind."

From afar, a bell tolled, calling to all that it was twelve o'clock. She turned slightly in the direction of the unseen clock tower, a little gasp passing her lips.

"The night nears midnight, so you must go?" he asked, gently teasing. "Like the fair maiden in that age-old tale."

Her eyes returned to his, laughing. "It is the unmasking that nears, my dear sir. Will you go?"

With flourish, he extended his arm. "May I escort you back to the ballroom, then, my lady?"

She took it graciously, but as they walked, a mischievous light sparkled in her eyes. "I'm of the suspicion that your gallant offer was merely to gain a quick way out of the maze!"

"You wound me, dear lady!" Sabo pretended to be devastated. "I would not take advantage of a lovely maiden in such a manner. See, I shall lead."

"You will make us late, sir! Come this way, it is a faster route."

Sabo had to admire the deftness with which she maneuvered out of the maze, not making a single wrong turn. Almost too soon they had reached the exit, and strolled towards the open doors.

They parted before they reached the area cast in light from within. Half in the shadows, he once again raised her hand to his lips with practiced charm and smiled roguishly. "It was a pleasure to meet you, desert rose."

"Likewise, Sir Iris."

Sabo's eyebrows shot up but she was gone before he could question the nickname, disappearing into the ballroom where she was soon swallowed up by the crowd.

A mysterious lady, indeed. His mouth curled into an amused smile.

"I'll see you again, desert rose," he whispered as he returned to the solitude of the garden.

Maybe staying one more day wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.

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_**(bows) So, what did you think of my attempt at a historical romance?**_

_**Please review! I'd love to know your opinions on this.**_

_**And a note for those of you waiting for updates on my other stories: I'm sorry for the delay, but my muse kinda derailed with the start of the term a while back, so I'm still trying to pull it back on track. But worry not! I have not abandoned them! Thank you for your patience.**_


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